Don't Cry for Me
by vickitata14
Summary: Molly Hooper has always hated crying over Sherlock Holmes. Sherlolly one-shot, end S2. Mild T for injury description.


For Molly Hooper, there had never been anything quite so ignominious as crying over Sherlock Holmes, and not only because it was invariably the result of some scathing public humiliation. More than anything else, Molly Hooper hated crying over Sherlock Holmes because it convinced her beyond the shadow of a doubt that she was utterly and completely _not_ special. Every time that prickling warmth sprang to her eyes, she was forcefully reminded of her established presence among the countless other women whom Sherlock Holmes had reduced to tears.

She stared at the mangled corpse on the slab before her. Dark curls and congealed blood matted on the right side of his face; the other side was deathly pale. Jagged tears profaned the black wool of the long, high-collared coat, and spots of blood stood out in alarming contrast to the stark white of the dress shirt. An unnaturally bent arm dangled lifelessly off the edge of the table. The sight made Molly sick to her stomach, yet she couldn't look away. Tears rolled in rapid succession down her cheeks and her shoulders shook visibly.

"Come now, Molly. I'm not really dead."

Molly could feel his presence at her back, like a gravitational field drawing her inexorably towards him. She would not turn. She refused to turn and see the scorn in his eyes as he beheld her and passed judgement. _Molly Hooper, guilty on countless charges of incurable sentiment so acute she cried for a man who wasn't really dead._

"I know that." She tried to snap at him, but her voice was rather too thick for that right now.

"Molly Hooper, look at me."

She rebelled with all her strength against his commanding tone. She didn't know why now, at the end, she chose to stand up to him, but she held firm. Until suddenly his hand rested on her shoulder, turning her towards him, and his steady gaze burned against the top of her head, forcing her to look up, and his eyes met hers not with disdain but with gentleness.

"That's not me, Molly. Look at me. I'm right here."

Just like that, she came undone. She fell to pieces, straight into his arms, and if he felt any distaste for the situation, he did not show it. Black wool-clad arms, warm and strong, enveloped her. His wiry frame yielded almost immediately to her softer one, and had she not been so emotional, she would have been surprised at how naturally they seemed to fit against each other. The weight of his chin resting in her hair and the gentle pressure of his arms around her held her together. For the first time in her life, his presence was security. For the first time in her life, she wept over Sherlock Holmes and was not ashamed.

Gradually the tears stopped, and she shifted in his arms. She felt his hold relax and she pulled away, dabbing at her eyes and sniffing rather indelicately. His arms fell stiffly against his sides, somehow awkward and out-of-place. Self-consciousness came rushing back and she felt herself blush as she noticed the unmistakable traces of snot on his coat.

"I'm so sorry," she stammered. "I don't know what came over me…" She trailed off, unable to form a coherent thought beneath his steady gaze which remained fixed on her. "Please stop looking at me like that." The words came out more harshly than they were meant to, and she winced.

He straightened. "I have to go now."

"I know." _Stay with me._

"Moriarty's network has to be destroyed."

"I know." _Let someone else do it._

"I imagine its influence is extensive."

"I know." _It's t__oo far for you to go__._

Silence. He continued to look at her.

"Will-" She struggled to keep her voice from breaking. "Will I ever see you again?"

"One can only hope."

Molly looked up, searching his face for signs that his words were anything but sincere. She could find none. His eyes retained that baffling look of tenderness. Molly felt ridiculously exposed, knowing that everything about her was plain as day to him, while he was inscrutable. Unable to think of anything else, she opened her mouth to say goodbye, but the words never made it out. Sherlock Holmes kissed her.

It happened so quickly that she often wondered if it happened at all. Having only just registered what seemed to be going on, she opened her eyes to see a flash of black disappear through the door that swung shut behind him.

"Good-bye, Molly Hooper," echoed softly in her ear.


End file.
